


Practice

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: JJCC (Band)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: "Is this—are you okay?"





	Practice

**Author's Note:**

> 2015 fic, written for a friend

Eddy drags his teeth along Henry's earlobe, grazes his fingers down his chest, and Henry moans. Too loud.

Eddy smiles into his skin, chides him in the next second.

This is supposed to be a secret.

They're supposed to be studying Korean, manager's orders, supposed to be preparing Henry for their upcoming debut. And they _were_ , but somewhere along the way, Eddy lost his shirt, lost his book, and Henry lost his resolve.

And now, they’re supposed to keep quiet.

“Is this—are you okay?” he’d asked the first time he’d kissed him, the first time his long, long fingers had wandered down, down, down.

“Is this—are you okay?” he asks now, pressing the question warm and wet to Henry’s neck, lips dragging as he waits for a response.

And where there once was hesitance, fear—I’ve misread this, haven't? I've misread us, haven’t I?—there is vague amusement, muted desire.

It’s always—he’s always okay, and Henry never, ever says no.

Henry stutters out a shaky, shaky _yes_ , throws in a shaky, shaky _Eddy_ , too.

And Eddy’s mouth is back on his skin, sucking slow and succulent along the column of his throat. Hard enough, thorough enough to have Henry smothering a heavy moan, but not enough to leave marks.

Pressed as close as he is, Henry can feel the weight, the heat of Eddy’s cock, and he grinds upwards into it, seeking friction, leverage. He tugs on Eddy’s hair.

There’s another laugh. A kiss pressed to his nose, the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s _practice_ ,” Eddy murmurs against Henry’s mouth, and he’s sliding down down down, cotton and denim whispering over the wrinkled fabric of Henry’s comforter.

Eddy tugs his shirt up, too, to his ribs, smiles against his skin, laughs, too, a small, hot, hot breath of air against his hipbone at Henry’s reedy _okay_.

“I’ll probably have to be your translator because you really fucking suck,” he’d joked the first time they’d met. Eddy’s hair had been shorter then, his cheeks softer, but his smile just as bright, his eyes just as soft, and Henry had maybe felt something then, clung to it. They could be each other’s reminders of home, Eddy had declared late one night after a particularly grueling, particularly demoralizing practice, and Eddy’s words are too drawled, his syllables too sprawling, too soft at the ends to quite sound like home. But still somehow somehow somehow, Eddy with his sharp eyes and his warm laugh and his searing alternately soothing alternately tender touches has become home. Something like it.

But Henry isn’t given much chance to reflect on this as Eddy shifts, continues in his ministrations, mouthing down the cotton of his shirt, whispering over his navel. His hands are splaying across Henry’s tense thighs. They always feel too good on his skin. “How?” he asks in rich, rich Korean. “Fast or slow?”

And Eddy _has_ been teaching him over the months, _has_ been tutoring, but the words that fall from his mouth in times like these, they’re not unsuitable for broadcast, for magazine spreads.

“Slow,” Henry manages, biting his lip hard as Eddy eases his pants open, fingers dancing over the ridge of his cock, teasing, torturing.

He’d asked for this. He’d wanted it like this. Slow, Eddy taking his time, luxuriating in the experience.

Eddy traces the outline of Henry’s cock over his plaid boxers, the heel of his palm dragging, his fingertips fluttering, and Henry’s hips jump without his permission. Eddy’s eyelashes flutter, lips purse. There’s a smile in his eyes.

_God_ , he’s beautiful.

“Please,” he whispers in English, sibilant and oh so strained, and Eddy smiles again. With his mouth this time. His thumbnail drags along the underside of Henry’s cock, and Henry’s muscle lock at the jolt of pleasure.

“Jebal,” Eddy corrects smoothly. “Korean,” he reminds him. “We’re _practicing_.”

And yes, yes, _Korean_ , Henry is learning, practicing, has to moan, beg, plead in Korean, too. Even on these nights. On the nights when they’re bolder, afforded more privacy, on those breathless nights that Henry is allowed to make him _sing_ , allowed to push inside of him and tear at his resolve, too, he’s Jongseok, Henry’s Jongseok.

“Yes.”

Eddy peels Henry’s boxers to midthigh, restricted movement, the elastic biting into his skin, but Eddy’s touching him in the next instance. And that’s really all that Henry can focus on.

He strokes him once, twice, slow, smooth, lingering just just just exactly how Henry likes, and Henry fights to keep his eyes open, his limbs steady.

He can feel the heat, the promise of Eddy’s mouth at his hipbone.

He’s watching while he works, eyebrows furrowed, mouth parted.

Henry gasps his name in encouragement.

And Eddy is mercifully tightening his grasp, teasing his thumb underneath the crown where Henry is most sensitive. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Henry stifles a heavy, heavy shudder, a heavier moan, turning to bite down hard on his arm as Eddy’s other hand teases over his balls.

“Want my mouth?” he asks. Deep, husky, maybe almost ruined, laced with so much want, a tight rasp near his skin as he repeats the question. But it’s still steadier than Henry’s own voice. Henry can barely string together syllables when his mind is deliciously, distressingly dizzy, drunk like this.

“Yes,” he breathes, his voice embarrassingly high. Twice in English before he remembers that they’re _practicing_. “Please,” he adds.

Henry’s hands stumble down, to cradle, to hold, threading his trembling fingers through long, soft strands, caressing a sharp jawline, smooth skin, and Eddy breathes against his wrist, dropping a kiss there. Affectionate and soft.

And then he’s suckling him into his mouth, groaning deep deep in his throat as Henry’s fingers turn briefly punishing, tugging much too hard. Henry’s fingers loosen just slightly, fingertips soothing over Eddy’s scalp. Shaky, so shaky.

Eddy hums as he swallows around him, swirls his tongue as he bobs back up. His lips are impossibly red like this, swollen and so soft, the most delicious plushness dragging over Henry’s aching skin over and over again.

Henry fights the urge to thrust hard into that wonderfully wet warmth, focuses on the way Eddy’s hair falls in his dark eyes, the heavy cast of his eyelashes, the obscene sounds on every rise and descent.

He’d asked for this. He’d wanted this.

Even, even slow, there’s devastation, Henry unraveling at the seams.

It’s a slow, slow burn, achingly decadent pleasure building up bob by bob, moan by moan, stroke by stroke until Henry is biting down on his own arm again, tugging too hard at Eddy’s hair again, stumbling over words again.

“Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, I’m going to—“

“Korean,” Eddy corrects him again, smiling against Henry’s pulsing flesh, licking his lips as Henry shudders helplessly.

And Henry resents it almost how seamlessly he switches between the two, when Henry scrambles to even stammer through drunk, twisted English praises. Even when he’s helplessly turned on, too. Even when Henry can hear the slight drag of denim against cotton, Eddy dropping his hips to grind against the comforter.

Henry doesn’t remember the word, settles for a helpless, whimpered, “Eddy, please. Your mouth.”

Eddy bites his lip nearly white, drops his hip once more, affected. His lips part on a low moan. Once, twice, and Henry, hard and aching and desperate, he wants to use his mouth on Eddy, too, wants to have Eddy just as hard and aching and desperate.

But Eddy recovers much too soon, mouthing up Henry’s cock with a certain exquisite finesse. “Come,” he urges him, a low, low rasp of encouragement. “I want to taste you.” As he swallows him once more.

And it only takes two, three, insistent bobs for Henry to follow through with a stuttered, muffled _Eddy_.


End file.
